Tell Me Something About Yourself
by TheScaryLittleGhostGirl
Summary: Sherlock and John had a discussion about virginity, which leads to a lot more. Wow that was a bad summary. But yeah, give it a chance. A product of me and my girlfriend being bored. Rated M, just to be safe. Lots of angst. Sherlock/John and Sherlock/OC.


**This is a product of me and Jaycee (my girlfriend) being very bored one day after school watching Red Dwarf, and scene in that is kind of what I based this on. And also there are lots of theories that Sherlock is bipolar, so I didn't make that up. I suppose it's kind of a sequel to 'William' and it's kind of angst. And yeah, little bit Sherlock/John in the end and some past Sherlock/OC talked about. Yes. So, here it is, hope you like it. **

**Tell Me Something About Yourself**

Sherlock sat cross-legged and rather hunched over in his chair in the living room of 221b, loosely clad in his grey pyjamas and infamous blue dressing gown. His hair was a mess, the black curls tangled and sticking out at rather odd angles. Rather dark circles under and around his crystal blue-grey eyes, the blue veins under his white skin looking rather more prominent than usual, apparently due to lack of sleep. He had the tips of his fingers pressed together, but still managed to be chewing away at the nails on both his index fingers and thumbs. On the coffee table was John's gun which Sherlock had taken off his hands for the day due to lack of activities and a growing sense of extreme boredom and depression.

That was the thing Sherlock most hated about being bipolar. The incredibly dark blank voids in his life that just stopped him from doing anything. They just seemed to last for so long. Completely diminishing him. John and the work was the two most important things, and it distracted him form both of them. He hated it. He hated it so much.

He lifted his head and tilted it to the side a little, his eyes scanning the wall seeing a few new bullet marks where the graffiti smiley face was still there.

He'd actually grown rather ford of the smiley face. He'd even named it. William, after himself.

He groaned and sighed. Throwing his head back, his rather long thin arms lolling over the arms of his chair.

When was John going to be back?

He sighed. Thinking about his flatmate. John had accepted him back into his life instantly after he had reappeared, he was grateful to John for that. More grateful that he would ever or probably could ever express in either words or actions.

He closed his eyes, and curling up again into a tight ball he began to count.

1,297 seconds later he heard the front door open and close. John was home.

He immediately felt rather guilty about putting more bullet holes in Mrs Hudson's wall. John wasn't exactly going to be particularly happy about it.

John came up the stairs into their flat, wearing his large coat. Shivering a little. He saw the gun on the table and immediately looked up to the wall, and seeing the fresh holes he groaned silently "Sherlock!"

"Bored." Sherlock answered simply.

"Why are you bored?" John asked, flinging himself down into his own seat, pulling off his coat, sounding annoyingly like a therapist.

Sherlock glanced at him, annoyed "You know why."

John sat back in his chair, running his hand through his ashy-sandy hair "Tell me something about yourself." he said.

Sherlock's head flicked round to gaze at him in utter confusion "What?"

"Tell me something about yourself." John repeated "Something I don't know about you."

"John, I tell you everything."

"Yeah but I'm not there most of the time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and his gaze returned to the ceiling "Not my fault." he mumbled to himself, although he was fully aware that John could hear and acknowledge everything he was saying.

"Just tell me something." John persisted, ignoring Sherlock's remark.

"Like what?"

John shrugged "I don't know. Anything, anything you want."

Sherlock still stared, quite emotionless at him.

John sighed and sat up more "Tell me…." he thought for a second or two "Tell me when you lost your virginity."

Sherlock's brow furrowed and he gazed at John in utter disbelief "Excuse me?"

"When did you lose your virginity?" John repeated, feeling red blush creep up the back of his neck like it did when he was embarrassed. "You _have_ lost your virginity haven't you?" he asked, slightly regretting bringing the topic up.

Sherlock gazed at him still for a moment or two before eventually nodding his head.

"Really?" John asked, slightly taken aback.

A tiny smile broke out on Sherlock's face "Does that shock you?" he asked, rather amused now.

Honestly yes it did. Sherlock had never had any form of romantic relationship of attachment in the whole time John had known him, unless you counted Irene Adler in any case.

"No." he lied "When was it?"

"In secondary school." he answered, his gaze returning to the ceiling.

"How old were you?" John asked, getting a bottle of water out of the shopping bag, unscrewing it and taking a sip.

"Twelve."

John spluttered an choked, water dribbling down his front, down his chin and dripped onto his shirt.

Sherlock stared at him, rather amused, a small smile breaking on his face.

"Twelve?" John demanded "Twelve? Sherlock, twelve?"

"Or thirteen." Sherlock added, thinking again "I can't remember exactly."

"Twelve?!"

"Twelve or thirteen." Sherlock corrected him.

"What the hell Sherlock?"

"You asked."

"How….you….what?" John spluttered.

Sherlock chuckled "Does that shock you?"

"Yes. Sherlock, do you know what I was worrying about when I was twelve? Handing in my maths homework in on time? Sherlock, when I was twelve I'd only kissed two girls."

Sherlock smiled "John, I have never kissed a girl."

"Huh?" then thinking again "Oh…" then again "You slept with _a boy _when you were twelve?"

Sherlock gave him a slightly annoyed look.

"Which is fine… I mean its not a problem." _Dammit! _

Sherlock smiled "I know it's fine."

John bit his lip, trying to think of something he could possibly say "Err…Who?"

"Frank Lester, he went to my school, he was five years older than me."

_Of course he was. _"He was seventeen?"

Sherlock nodded, obvious amusement growing on his face.

"And you were twelve? You slept with a seventeen year old when you were twelve?"

"Or thirteen." Sherlock added.

"Didn't you got to boarding school though?"

Sherlock nodded.

"How? Where?"

"My dorm during on Christmas Eve."

"Christmas Eve?" John asked, confused.

"Yeah…I used to stay at school during the holidays, and so did he, we kind of bonded over that." Sherlock explained, his smile gone.

"Oh…why?"

Sherlock brought his legs up onto the chair, wrapping his arms tight around them and resting his chin on his knees "Why do you care?" he snapped .

"Sorry, I just wanted to know."

Sherlock sighed and glared at him "I wasn't allowed home." he averted his eyes.

"Why not?"

Sherlock sighed, sucking slightly on his own bottom lip, turning his head back to his flatmate and trusted friend. No, more than friend. His companion, his life-long partner, the one who stood by him and believe in him when nobody else would "Because my father left us, and my mother had a nervous breakdown."

John's eyes widened, Sherlock could instantly see he regretted asking. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock shrugged, rubbing his chin and cheek against his own bony knee "Doesn't matter."

John hesitated for a moment "Yes it does." he reached over and the tips of his fingers made contact with Sherlock's hand. "Sherlock…?"

"Yes John?"

"What happened to him? To the boy?"

"He died of a heroine overdose when he was nineteen."

"And you were fourteen?"

He nodded "Yeah. But I'd already lost him by then."

John twined his fingers around Sherlock's "You did drugs too didn't you?"

Sherlock slowly inclined his head.

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand, lightly squeezing it. "John?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

John was slightly taken aback. Sherlock never said thank you, ever. "For what?"

"Just thank you."

"I…you're welcome." then surprising himself and Sherlock, he lifted his flatmate's hand to his lips and kissed it.

Sherlock untangled his limbs, and leaning over, gently pressed a kiss to John's mouth.

His lips were soft and he smelled like foggy weather, damp and crisp. He pulled away, lifting one of his long fingered hands up and running it along John's face, his nose, eyes, jaw, cheeks, forehead, and mouth.

"Thank you." John smiled, his eyes fluttering closed.

Sherlock smiled "You're welcome."

**Absolutely pointless I know. But hey I was bored. **

**Review please **


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